I was amused to find that many people at IMDb find
this film rhetorical and dated. They are right, of course, but what they probably
lack the historical context to realize is that it was already
rhetorical and dated in 1981, when it was released.

Guys about half a generation older than I have always tended to be
lavish in their praise for 1950's icons Paddy Cheyevsky and Blake Edwards, but I've
always found them both too wordy, and incapable of writing natural dialogue.
All of their characters deliver practiced orations rather than natural speech.
Frankly, my patience for oratory is limited to the Shakespearian
speeches of Marc Anthony, Henry V, and others.

Although his true legacy of cinematic greatness is as a director
(The Days of Wine and Roses, Breakfast at Tiffany's), Blake Edwards had some
writing successes early in his career (IMDb score in parentheses):

After that cultural revolution of the late 60's,
however, his speechified, mannered dialogue seemed hopelessly out of
touch, as if a vestige of another day. That entire style fell out of
favor, replaced by the naturalistic, often improvised dialogue in the
films of directors like Robert Altman. I kept going to Edwards' movies
well through the 70's and early 80's, but always came out feeling that he was a man
who simply lost pace with the times. I was especially disappointed by
the Pink Panther sequels, because I liked the first two (the Pink
Panther and A Shot in the Dark).

NUDITY REPORT

There is breast exposure from Julie Andrews,
Rosanna Arquette in a minor role, and Marisa Berenson.

To his credit, Edwards did come charging back in
1979-1982 with 10, S.O.B, and Victor, Victoria. He was 60 at the time, but managed to get
an Oscar nomination for his Victor/Victoria screenplay, as well as several other
nominations for the film, which he also directed. Most of us old farts
remember 10 very fondly as well, although maybe not because of the
wit. S.O.B. is not an awful movie, but is the weakest of the those
three films in Edwards' 1979-1982 renaissance.

S.O.B. probably should have been a lot better,
because it is largely autobiographical. It's about a director who
loses touch with his audience, and decides to make a blockbuster by
taking his g-rated wholesome comedy script and his g-rated star and
converting it all to an arty musical sex film, to give the audience
what they really want. Well, that's the theory, anyway. Of course, if
Edwards knew what audiences really wanted, he wouldn't have served up
this film. You see, the plot pretty much mirrors what
Edwards himself did by getting his wife, Julie Andrews, to flash her
g-rated knockers in his little sex film named S.O.B.

Of course, the
entire premise was wrong. The fact that Anthony Newley had actually
tested this theory
some years earlier with "Heironymus Merkin", and ended up with a
mammoth box office bomb, seemed to escape the attention of both the
fictional director and Edwards himself. The problem with Edwards's films
in that post-Woodstock era wasn't a lack of sex, but rather a lack of
reality. The audiences weren't clamoring for skin or films in sordid
taste with big stars. They wanted rather to see real
people saying things that people really say in situations that really
occur, and to throw out all the artificiality in the old-style films.
Edwards didn't grasp the entire cultural revolution, and continued to
deliver stagy, intelligent, opinionated dialogue that sounded like
prepared rhetoric, as hopelessly out of touch as a zealous pro-Czarist asking
for an audience with Stalin.

S.O.B. does have some great moments when Robert Preston and Bill Holden are on screen, especially Preston as a
Hollywood Dr. Feelgood. The twitchy Richard Mulligan is especially funny when
he stops twitching - in between his
death and his Viking funeral. Unfortunately, those guys aren't on
screen enough. The rest of the cast consists of the usual guest stars
on "Love, American Style": Larry Hagman, Stuart Margolin, Loretta Swit,
Robert Vaughn, Larry Storch, Joe Penny, and Corbin Bernsen.

All they needed was Charo, Paul Lynde, and Peter
Marshall for an impromptu game of Hollywood Squares.

Actually, as much as it galls me to admit it, an
unrecognizable Larry Storch was quite funny as the Maharishi who spoke
at the funeral, and rattled off the names of the producer's films with
an outrageous Indian accent.

You know, the film has many weaknesses, and yet as
much as I bitch about it, I drag it
out and watch it occasionally, so it must have some charm as well.

TUNA's THOUGHTS

Julie Andrews shows her Bubbies
(1981), more commonly known as S.O.B., is a Blake Edwards
comedy. That alone should tell you that the dialogue will be a
vocabulary lesson, and will outweigh the plot by a large margin.

A producer has made his first
flop, and cost the studio a fortune. He attempts suicide several
times in slow motion, but eventually figures out a way to save
the film. He will re-cut it as a sex fantasy, and have his wife
and all-American virgin (Julie Andrews) flash her tits.

The film has an excellent comedy cast, and some funny moments.
It is supposed to be a satire on the film industry, but, for me,
went on way too long and couldn't stay focused.

The
Critics Vote

no reviews online.

The film was nominated
for two Razzies for worst screenplay and worst director.

But Robert Preston won
"best supporting actor" from the National Society of Film
Critics

IMDb
guideline: 7.5 usually indicates a level of
excellence, about like three and a half stars
from the critics. 6.0 usually indicates lukewarm
watchability, about like two and a half stars
from the critics. The fives are generally not
worthwhile unless they are really your kind of
material, about like two stars from the critics.
Films under five are generally awful even if you
like that kind of film, equivalent to about one
and a half stars from the critics or less,
depending on just how far below five the rating
is.

My own
guideline: A means the movie is so good it
will appeal to you even if you hate the genre. B means the movie is not
good enough to win you over if you hate the
genre, but is good enough to do so if you have an
open mind about this type of film. C means it will only
appeal to genre addicts, and has no crossover
appeal. D means you'll hate it even if you
like the genre. E means that you'll hate it even if
you love the genre. F means that the film is not only
unappealing across-the-board, but technically
inept as well.

Based on this description, Tuna
says "I can't give
it more than a C, but it is a high water mark in celebrity
nudity". Scoop agrees.